Il Ne S'Aime Pas
by Kokura
Summary: He doesn't love him, really, he doesn't. But sometimes things get out of control. Drabblefic. MaouRam, ambiguous YuuRam


A/N: Trying out something that's been nagging at me for a while now. Trans: He doesn't love him. Sorry about JMAC, but I'm trying the hardest I can, and I can say with a reasonable amount of certainty that I'll have the first done by the anniversary of UBJ. This was originally supposed to go into the story collection _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_, which would have been sold and advertised via AIIKSTUKO, dA, etc., and nowhere else, but one thing came up after another and...well...just call it a Christmas present (albeit late), if you will. Have fun!

* * *

Il Ne L'Aime Pas

* * *

_Because he doesn't love him._

* * *

He knows what everyone thinks.

His brothers:

_Why doesn't the king love him? Whywhywhy? Why does he chase that stupid, foolish child-Maou when only pain and hurt and who-knows-what-else will come and sweep him away?_

His mother:

_Oh, sillysilly Wolfie, don't give your heart away to just one person, nonono, give it to all that want it; that is the only real way to find love, to find happiness - just look at me!_

(He has, and he isn't sure he likes it)

The servants:

_chatterchatterLordWolframwhisperKingYuuriwhispernoreally?hushhushtheymighthearyouhashenoshamechatterchatter._

They don't know that he hears them, that each of their words is a reminder of what he sees as his daily betrayal of his one and only, performance he must always act out day after day after day after day, a performance he loathes with a startling intensity, but is necessary.

But he doesn't care, doesn't care at all; doesn't care what anyone says as long as his love (hislove_his_lovehis_love_) will appear from the pathetic human shell of his host, resplendent with power and strength...everything, in fact, that said host doesn't have, and never will.

* * *

He can't let them know.

He can never let them know that their precious boy-king's darker (_better_) side is the one he loves, not the weak, hopeless excuse for an organism they all think he adores. They would be shocked, appalled, angry even, at his audacity. A half-blooded, incompetent, mortal, boy would-be king is all Wolfram is good for, after all, not a magnificent, awesome figure of a man. In any case, to the castle-dwellers, Yuuri (_and _oh, _how he _despises_ and _detests_ that name, that curséd_ _name of a curséd boy)_ and the Maou, his love, are meant to meld together and provide them with the perfect being. Nobody ever stops to consider that the Maou does not _want_ to be welded with such a disgusting personage as his other self, nobody consults _his_ opinion on the matter, and this makes Wolfram angry, so very, very angry, but his lover, his life, tells him to wait, wait because one day, his weaker side will die, because one day, they will be together at last...

* * *

_

* * *

_

...One day... 

So he waits, bides his time until he can at last be as one with his darling, his love, his god, gritting his teeth internally as he calls out to the wimp, the idiot, acts like a complete and utter love-struck fool on the surface while viciously meaning every single degrading, insulting thing he says. At night, he pulls on his nightgown (and how insulting that that imbecile of a boy thought that he, Wolfram von Beilenfield, would actually degrade himself purely for the sake of his affection?) and crawls into bed beside his liege-lord, often pretending to fall asleep so that he can let out all of his frustrations on the moronic child beside him with painful kicks and punches (and just how stupid is the king if he believes that one of the elite soldiers could have possibly made it this far in the ranks while still having a sleeping problem that would almost certainly cause problems in the field?) before the little cretin falls asleep...

...and his love appears.

Once the Maou, the _true_ Maou, not that disgraceful excuse that is his so-called fiancé (not really, because it was his love that defeated him, his love that won the duel, not the weakling pretender), appears, they give themselves over to their love and delight, stopping just before Dawn stretches her rosy finger-tips to brush the sky with a marvelous palette of colors and having to part for another long, long day.

Soon though, soon...the pretender will die, everything will change, and when it does, his love will be beside him forever, and everything will be made right in their Utopia.

* * *

_(his darling has already promised, and he _always_ keeps his promises...)_

* * *


End file.
